protegge | ic inbox ( balance )

[Oh.] Whoa.

[Oh, she said that out loud. But she can't help it! She can feel the horny shock as much as she sees it! And she can feel him warming up. In multiple senses — through the Oath, and where the exposed skin of his side is pressed against her.

This is killing her. But...

But.

Now it's her turn to tuck closer, her eyes wide and discerning as she leans up closer to his face.

And then she laughs. A soft thing, short and disbelieving, that builds into a grin as she speaks.] Yeah? You want me to call you a good boy for doing stuff for me?

[It's a tease. Obviously he wants that, she's just turning this back around on him.

But then something else clicks. It's obvious that a follow-up is coming from the curious tilt of her head. Something truly heinous. Her tone goes from knowing to sudden realization.]

...do you want me to call you a bad boy if you don't do stuff too?

[This is a fucking nightmare and we will never wake up from it.]

[It's bad enough when she laughs, when she lets out that soft giggle that stretches into a dazzling grin. She's gorgeous, she's hypnotic, she's the center of his world in a way that makes him crazy, not the least because no matter what he does she doesn't seem to quite believe him. But how could she not be, offering something like this?]

[Of course he nods, because nodding is all he can do. Words just won't come. If he nods, at least that will be something, some response, some acknowledgment that she's right, that the heat rising in his cheeks is for her and for that. And he thinks that's all there is, but—]

[But then she keeps going.]

[There's this weird moment between breaths where he's painfully, acutely aware of how fucked he is. It feels like she's got him around the throat, pressed up against the wall, with her words and her smile alone. She's so smart, too smart, and he's so fucking mortified and turned on that he thinks he might die. Right here, right now, in this cabana on this beach, may God strike him down.]

[It doesn't happen. Instead he swallows hard and carefully puts the bouquet of flowers down in his lap. Just. You know. Subtly and for no reason.]

I want you to do th— both. I want both.

[The thing is, she can convince herself she doesn't see a lot of what she sees. Under most circumstances, she could even convince herself that she doesn't see this. And if she did see it, that it wasn't for her. By her own metric, she's not all that special, so a lot of things vanish when she measures them by that scale.

But she feels this. Burningly, blindingly, she feels it.

And she echoes it right back without realizing, her face heating as she watches every subtle shift of his expression and simply...waits. For an answer, for guidance, for some kind of memory to tell her how much she might know about this. Photos are photos and all, but she has to know more than that about making him feel good, doesn't she?

Unfortunately, the movement of the bouquet just draws her eyes down. She doesn't see what it's hiding, but. She's not that dumb.

It would probably be politer not to eye his lap while she thinks about this — or rather, tries to think over the undeniable impulse that's suddenly grasped her. She's forgotten how to be polite, though, because she's just trying to decide whether to be polite.

Maybe it's rushed. There's still so much about him she can't remember. But...it doesn't feel rushed. It feels natural. It feels like they never missed a beat.

So—

She looks back up to his face, eyes wide and intent.] I can help with that if you want.

[So it's okay, right?]

[She's staring. Worse by far, though, is the way he can feel her thinking, mulling over her options to the ever-increasing tempo of want drumming in the back of her mind. Their minds. It's this insane feedback loop that yanks him back every time he tries to calm himself down, to think about something super serious and chill the fuck out, until all of a sudden this piercing psychic hum of horniness grabs him by the dick all over again.]

[He thinks he should say no. He should probably say no. He breathes out sharply, ducks his head, lists all the reasons he should say no.]

[But Sayori's looking at him, and he can't help but meet her eyes. They're loud right now. There's so much in the way she looks at him, and none of that's helping with the situation either, frankly.]

I—

[He chokes on a laugh, gaze darting towards the next cabana over, not that close but close enough. Licks his lips. Thinks about all those reasons again and immediately forgets them.]

Do you want to? I mean, it'd — yeah, I do, but you don't have to, y'know?

...

[She leans back and gives herself just enough space not to headbutt him as she bows her head in a sudden peal of laughter, eyes squeezed shut as giggles overtake her.] You're so cute!

[None of this is an answer to his question, or helpful at all in any way. But it's just funny! He can feel how much she wants him too, can't he? The connection is two-way, and she's not being terribly subtle.

So she has to laugh before she can muster an answer, waving her free hand in a flippant motion as she tries to remember the words to explain.] I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to, silly! I like to help people but that's not the kind of favor I'm just gonna do for anyone!

[There are still dregs of laughter in her words. They're affectionate, though.]

[God.]

[Okay, you know what, fine, he does deserve that. Even he'll admit it, as he tugs his hat down over his face in complete mortification. The parts of his face that can be seen are tomato-red, but there's no resentment in him, just a sort of floaty embarrassment that lingers on the edges of arousal, making eyes at it from across the border.]

I know that.

[How much of this squirming is because of genuine physical discomfort and how much is because he's been shamed half to death? Yes.]

. . . 's fucking. No walls here. [nailed it]

[Hm, should she feel bad for laughing? He doesn't seem mad. Embarrassed, but not mad.

She catches her breath and leans in again, her smile a bit apologetic as she reaches up and playfully flips one of the sides of his hat.] Don't worry. I do really want to.

[Soft. Sympathetic. Assuaging those concerns, hopefully.

Which means back to barreling forward into chaos. He does bring up a fair logistical problem, which she considers it for a moment.] I don't wanna mess up the couch anyway... [Given that she shares it with Clear, who is very cool and would probably be upset to sleep on a couch that's been fucked on? And Sayori is horny and rude but not that rude.

After turning the problem over in her head for a second, her expression lights up with eager realization.] Oh, I can do a spell that would hide us for thirty minutes! That'd be enough if we find a nice spot, right?

[The way she plays with his hat is reassuring, even if it contributes to his feeling ridiculous, which truthfully wasn't going away anyway, especially not with the thoughtful logistical discussion of where they're going to bone down. Where they're going to bone down assisted by magic, apparently, which is — is that hot? Does he think that's hot? Honestly he isn't even sure at this point.]

[He also isn't sure if he should be insulted by the thirty minutes thing, but he's definitely not stupid enough to point that out, especially because she's right. Instead he just . . . ducks his head in a weird, awkward nod and reaches for her hand, squeezing gently.]

Yeah. That works.

[It has somehow slipped his mind that as soon as they get situated Sayori is absolutely going to weaponize her new knowledge against him, but that's his own damn fault, frankly, and no one should pity him.]

[He's...really cute.

She just said that to him, but she thinks it again as she watches him nod in this way that reminds her of a turtle trying to hide its head. It's awfully charming coming from someone who was teasing her about bringing him to heel.

She gives his hand a squeeze in return as she reaches out to set the rest of the churros on the table. Sugar goes pretty much everywhere in the process, but she's only looking at him as she places them down, soft fondness overlaying the steady thrum of want in her heart. This funny thing where he flirts with her and then totally loses it after she doubles down on it— it's an achingly familiar dance, and suddenly it's got her all warm and sentimental. This is someone she knows well with every part of her being; body, mind, and soul.

So maybe it's ridiculous, but she doesn't really care. She loves him, and she wants to make him feel good. They'll have to sneak around a little bit, but that just adds to the fun!

She tips her face towards his in invitation, her smile small but bright.] Will a kiss make you feel better?

[Will a kiss make him feel better. He almost laughs even though it'd be at his own expense; does smile, a crooked self-deprecating thing even as he can't stop staring at her mouth. So soft.]

I . . . yeah. Always.

[There are more words in there, somewhere. He wants to draw them out into the open. But impulse and need take him over briefly, the offer too good to pass up. It's not as though he's wanting for opportunities to kiss her, she's always eager, but this feels special, a sweet counterbalance to all the teasing.]

[When he kisses her, it's with a soft, almost pained noise, the Oath-beat of want getting louder the moment their lips touch. He's bigger than her, but he kisses her so softly, opening himself up to her in a way he'd have a hard time describing in words. The way he lingers on her bottom lip, nibbles gently rather than biting or pulling, licks his way into her mouth but not too far before drawing back and inviting her in with a tip of his head—]

[He's full of such wistful need for her to pull him apart. He doesn't know why. He just wants so badly to be in her hands.]

. . . I don't feel bad, though. [Mumbled against her mouth as he takes in a ragged breath.] I like it when you do that — mess me up like that. Feels good.

[He thinks maybe he needs it. Something to think about later, when he isn't thinking about how bad he wants her to touch him.]

[The way he kisses her makes her heart clench in her chest in a way she both knows and doesn't. The underlying pulse of want is nearly suffocating, yearning that she can't see the bottom of, and she can't comprehend that it's for her. It's impossible to wrap her mind around, even though a part of her recognizes it. As much as she wants to take a deep breath and jump into it, even though she knows she'll jump in the end, there are remnants in her of an instinct to back away from the edge.

She's pliant as he moves in, encouraging the slow, gentle way he advances with a tender sigh. When he invites her back, the slow-building momentum carries her forward; there's a little bit of firmness, a little hunger in the way she shapes her lips to his and dips her tongue in to taste him.

Because she feels that need. She can't conceptualize it in so many words, but— he needs something, and that's the real reason she knows she's going to jump in. Because he's trusting her to give him what he needs, whatever it is. How could she ever back away from trust like that?

They don't-quite-break for air, and she's smiling when he speaks.] Ehe. It's fun when you do it to me too.

[She wants him to know that, so it's worth saying, but she's pretty sure it's her turn to make a mess right now.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around his hand, accompanied by another soft bubble of laughter.] I know thirty minutes isn't very long but I promise I'll mess you up as much as I can. Maybe I could do it twice and give us an hour!

[Maybe, she says, like it's a gamble. She's pretty sure she's strong enough to do it twice. But it's kind of exciting not to know too, isn't it?]

[The way she says it, somewhere in the nexus of a theoretical, a tease, and a reward, makes him instinctively lean into her further, almost going for a kiss. Almost, but not quite. His lips brush hers before he breathes in sharply and rests his forehead against hers.]

[She knows, he thinks, that he'd be desperately happy with anything she wanted to give him. He's so confident in that that he doesn't bother clarifying — he can feel it. But the way she's dangling this in front of him does demand a response, so . . .]

Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I guess—

[Damn. He swallows hard.]

Guess it depends how I do.

[It doesn't. It's absolutely not conditional. But it's nice to think it does, in a warm way that he can't yet entirely wrap his head around.]

[Oh.

Yeah, she likes that.

She looks at him with wide eyes, taken for a moment by the heavy note of want in her own heart. There's no way she's going to manage this with any kind of composure; she's just too excitable to manage an act of ice-cold confidence or discipline.

But he'd know that about her, right? So it's okay. She'll just do her best in her own way.

She closes in for a real kiss, messy and needy but painfully brief; when she pulls back, she's grinning, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.] Don't worry. I know you'll do a really good job for me.

[Composure's overrated. He likes her like this: needy and happy and overflowing with feeling. That's who she is; that's why he loves her. There's something so gentle and healing about her, nobody how she feels or what she's doing. Everything she does makes him better.]

[This, too. The way she kisses him and pulls away too quickly, leaving him wanting, that's good. The way she grins at him pulls the floor out from under him, and that's good too. And what she says—]

[Makes him whine, actually, flustered and impatient.] Come on. [This is cruel and unusual punishment.]

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